


‘Til It Bleeds Daylight

by levitatethis



Category: X-Men: First Class (2011) - Fandom
Genre: Angst, Gen, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-11-26
Updated: 2011-11-26
Packaged: 2017-10-26 13:58:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,788
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/284036
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/levitatethis/pseuds/levitatethis
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Despite continuing on different paths following the events of the beach, Charles and Erik have managed to rebuild a very small portion of their fractured relationship. On the eve of something huge, Erik shows up and he and Charles finally put it all out on the table.</p>
            </blockquote>





	‘Til It Bleeds Daylight

_“Lord I don’t know which way I’m going  
Which way the river gonna flow  
It just seems that upstream I keep rowing  
Still got such a long way to go  
Still got such a long way to go_

_Then that light, Hits your eye  
I know, I swear we’ll find somewhere the streets are paved with gold  
Bullets fly, Split the sky  
But that’s all right, sometimes sunlight comes streaming through the holes”_   
**-Coldplay, "UFO"**   


The easy part--

"Hello, Charles."

"Good evening, Erik."

is always over and done with well before Charles feels adequately prepared for yet another round of ‘let’s circle around the slumbering elephant in the room,’ the one they end up gazing around and peeking over for a time, the one they eventually nudge awake and send on its way because brutal honesty is just as easy (and more to the point) to slip back into. He can steel his mind and the steadfast resolve rooted deep against the points of contention that always make up visits such as this one just as forcefully as Erik can keep him at bay.

Flittering eyes (skimming over the wheelchair quickly, can't un-see it, can't ignore it, can't outrun the guilt Charles wishes Erik didn't still feel for its existence), a soft sigh (too much has been said and still left unspoken, there's no point in playing the record again, they're done with that dance), a few quips back and forth (the warm up, the foreplay, taking the gloves off and putting the masks away to really see each other, look at each other), and only then do they truly begin.

Erik stands before him, tall and lean with his cape carving a strong impenetrable form and the imposing helmet fit into place like a knight's guard, daring and demanding. He is power and grace in a single breath. Framed by the windows of the study, the curtains pulled aside to let in darkness and a hint of moonlight, he is a compelling presence. It's all very theatrical. Charles bites back a chuckle. Erik narrows his eyes expectantly.

"I see the superhero look is here to stay," Charles comments wryly.

Erik doesn't bother rolling his eyes. He's heard the joke before on one too many occasions. Instead he lifts an eyebrow as if to say, _Really? This base humour is quite beneath you._

Charles raises his left hand, palm forward, in a placating, halfhearted gesture of apology and makes a small sweeping motion they understand as, _ignore what I've said, forget it, accept my pseudo groveling and let’s move on_. Not that either of them can do that, but it's the thought that counts.

"Ever the polite host," Erik posits with an edge of amusement. "Your doors are always open, are they not?"

Charles considers his words carefully, wondering if Erik is trying to trip him up in a lie or a loophole. He wouldn’t put it past him. Words aren’t empty vessels of communication. They both understand the currency of what’s said and what’s left unspoken. "Of course," he eventually replies, "although I've become more discerning with regards to whom that invitation extends. Circumstances demand it, as I’m sure you know."

Any hint of cordiality leaves Erik's face. "Mystique?"

Immediately, Charles says, "No," firmly, clear and definitive.

The word, a full stop statement, hangs heavy in the air. There was a time when Charles truly did throw his doors open to any and all who wished to come into his school, into his home. But that was then when idealism ruled him more thoroughly. He wonders when it was that exceptions countered the rules to such an imbalanced degree. There's no one moment to pin the blame on, it was a slew of them, strung together like a fragile necklace or hangman’s noose. There are certain people, certain mutants, who he will not allow within these walls if he has anything to say about it. They are the ones who wish to harm and hurt for their own nefarious and misguided, tunnel vision purposes. If it was just Charles and the other adults to stand guard it would be one thing but there are now children's lives to consider, to protect.

Mystique made a choice awhile back, long after the beach when part of her was still Raven. And that’s now how he thinks of her because it’s the only way he can understand what’s transpired—a split person: Raven, the sister he loved (maybe not as best he could, but it was love all the same and she felt the same unconditionally) slowly disappeared the longer she was away from him, moving further into Erik’s fold until she was someone else all together.

At some point the Brotherhood's second in command crossed a threshold that broke Charles' heart while simultaneously making it easier to for him to close the door on the one part of his past that was filled with her. Maybe this has always been her fateful calling, as much as it pains Charles to consider. When he promised never to read her mind (back when they were children and family meant forever) it was a promise to strengthen their bond. But the cost, the risk that exists for most persons is not knowing what lurks deep within someone’s heart, what lays dormant only to be called awake by the full moon that unleashes the irrevocable. He has to consider that Raven needed him (and him her) in childhood and Mystique needs Erik (and vice versa) now.

Yet even with that revelation, she has since done hurtful things, frightening things. Her fearlessness (though admirable when she was younger and aimed it at less catastrophic endeavors) along the way is a concern because of what it leaves unapologetically in her wake. She looks at him now through the eyes of a stranger. By comparison, Erik, even as the Brotherhood’s leader, has never wandered far from where Charles has always known him to be. Even in their distance they have remained within each other’s realm. That doesn’t mean excuses are made for one but not the other. It simply means there’s a difference.

The old adage, 'distance makes the heart grow fonder' only holds true to a certain extent for particular people. Distance also makes old wounds fester and the only way blanks can be filled in is with speculation, like mismatched jigsaw pieces forced together to make something sensical but ugly. In the case of Mystique, distance—her effectively closing the door on the life they'd once lived together—allowed Charles to draw a line of distinction. Erik has never actually gone that far away.

"She's who she was always meant to be," Erik states, doling out the Brotherhood’s company line.

Charles is tired of giving leeway to bad behavior under the guise of ‘being true to one’s self.’ Evolution isn’t a blank cheque to do your worst. "Well then you'll have to forgive me if I don't particularly like who that has turned out to be," Charles counters swiftly.

Erik furrows his brow and takes a tentative step forward.

For the first time Charles considers the strange position Erik finds himself in. When he first met Charles and Raven they were a close knit family and part of his beginning to belong to something genuine, something that saw wonder in who he was and what he could become. Now they stand in opposing corners as broken factions and Erik is the tethered go-between, the only thing representing some sort of bond anyone new to their sides would have no history of. It’s lonely in the middle.

Erik shakes his head. “You never quite heard her over the sound of your own insistence on taking the easier road and compromising ourselves to fit in, to be mediocre. You’re angry because she saw both sides and ultimately chose mine.”

The kernel of truth at the core of his words automatically jettisons Charles’ mind to questions about whether Erik and Mystique ever slept together, the absolute communion of their ideals. He’s well aware of the crush Raven had on Erik when he first came with them and the way Erik looked at her blue form as nothing less than beautiful. Whether it was platonic on his side has remained an unasked question. Just the thought of it hurts, still, all these years later. How can Charles even begin to reconcile such a union: Raven—not anymore, but still there is a part of him locked away that remembers how much he wanted to protect his sister, not have her face the cruelty of the world alone, not if he could find a way to make it better for her—and Erik—his Erik, his friend, confidante, the closest thing to a soul mate Charles has ever known (and does that still count if it’s one sided?), his _everything_.

But none of that justifies the point Erik is insisting upon.

Maybe the big picture was too distracting, maybe Charles’ compartmentalized too much or not enough, maybe his idealism got the better of him, but for Mystique to cross over the line of civility, of friendship and family, of _humanity_ (and not only as ascribed to humans but as the loaded word made up of compassion, unity, respect), is something Charles cannot and will not make peace with.

“If she wants to argue her position then let it come from her lips,” Charles argues. “You as her mouthpiece changes nothing except telling me she’s found a family she would kill for. Believe me, Erik, it’s not as sweet as it sounds.”

“So certain of yourself,” Erik admonishes. “God forbid someone offer another possible—probable—truth.”

“Truth?! What truth is there in forcing one group to live in abject horror at the behest of another? Surely you, of anyone, knows better,” Charles challenges.

“Don’t you dare use what I survived as a morality tale, Charles.”

“Then don’t use it as a blueprint!”

Eric glares furiously. “You act like I discard with ease, taking what I want and damning the consequences. Mystique—,”

“Is that why you’re here? To talk about her? There’s nothing more to say. She chose a path I think is frighteningly irresponsible and destructive.”

“She thought everything through and belabored every point before making a final decision. That’s something she learned from you and if I could tell you the arguments we got into in the beginning…I know she still wants you on our side. She sees what we could be together.”

“I doubt my political beliefs are of any interest to her beyond being a continued obstacle to your goals. That’s what I am in her eyes. A diversion.”

“Just because she didn’t choose you doesn’t mean she never loved you. It doesn’t mean I…”

Charles lifts his brow in surprise. At once everything is suddenly spinning, tilting off its axis and Charles needs it to stop so they can catch their breath and clear their minds. He doesn’t want to do this again with Erik. Not right now. Fighting is debilitating and more often than not it does little but cover up the real issues which now appear to be seeping through ragged seams.

“You?...” he prompts Erik, prodding whatever this is back on track.

Erik clenches his jaw. “If you think so little of her, what must you think of me? Why this charade of diplomacy, these falsely cordial conversations. I broke your family, I broke your…”

The way Erik’s eyes are trained on his, searching, reveals this is more than a run of the mill meeting and a questionable response will result in either an immediate change in direction or the full go ahead. A question has been shakily placed before him. Charles sits up straight and nods at the chairs over by the table with the chessboard on it. Erik spares a quick glance at the un-played game then, with a ‘come here’ gesture drags one of the chairs across the floor and into his hand, setting it down so he can sit across from Charles (who rolls forward to meet him halfway), their knees almost touching.

Unsurprisingly, Erik sits rigidly composed and upright, his arms stiff on the armrests, palms curled around the fronts. On the flipside Charles drops his shoulders and clasps his hands in his lap. “For our differences of opinion,” Charles begins thoughtfully, “for the profound opposition of our ideologies with regards to humans in the grand scheme of things, with regards to the place of mutants in the world along the evolutionary scale, our _fundamentals_ remain the same.”

Erik says nothing so Charles takes the opportunity to have his say, uninterrupted. “People—mutants—change. Nothing is static. But one can connect the dots from A to B to C and so on. With Mystique I can no longer draw the logical (if disagreeable) lines. The conclusion doesn’t fit the hypothesis. She’s off the grid from the person I knew, so-to-speak. I’d be lying if I said I don’t miss my sister. But she left a long time ago and I said my goodbyes, made my peace then. That’s not the same case with you, my friend—,”

Erik’s eyes widen in confusion and curiousity.

Charles coughs and clarifies. “I haven’t quite made my peace with you,” he says with a tease of a smile. “I don’t like some of the choices you’ve made but I recognize the you that is making them. I never said goodbye to you.”

Appreciation mixed with the wisdom of knowing all too well what life expects of you, the toll you’ll have to pay to play, skips across Erik’s face. For a second Charles sees the man he first brought to the mansion and into his life and a pang of yearning flips his stomach.

Erik was guarded back then, consumed (understandably) by the need to enact revenge for those he loved who were destroyed mercilessly. But over time at the mansion he came to open up, if only a bit (mostly with Charles and to a lesser extent Raven). He was sad but searching for hope, angry but driven, and for awhile—during long days in the car between stops on their mutant recruitment roadtrip or drawn out evenings in various motels that quickly went from two rooms to one, while sitting on the grass a decent distance from the estate and talking about their lives and debating opinions, while engaging in silent conversations across the rowdy breakfast table and the more aggressive point/counterpoint discussions in the twilight hours of a chess match—their closeness became something Charles wasn’t prepared for. A mix of emotional, intellectual and physical, it was a Trifecta that sent him head over heels. And he tried to hold onto it with all his might. Maybe too tightly. For a telepath he couldn’t always see the forest for the trees.

Erik was never one to be held. Sure he was the type to grasp a shoulder strongly, nail you with a sharp smile and dancing eyes, sting heated breath against one ear and knock you still with a gaze that could pierce through to the soul (and when he looked at Charles like he was the only person in the room it was beautiful and overwhelming and Charles looked back the same way until Erik would smile and bow his head as if suddenly aware of a very important secret), but he also squirmed out from beneath a stare that took in his full being, he pulled away from arms that wanted to hold on longer and longer, he shrugged off words that reached deep inside.

Erik was never going to stay. And Charles was never going to leave. Yet each expected— _hoped_ —the other would make the ultimate sacrifice.

In return they’ve been left with spotty reunions brimming with all sorts of tension and relentless expectations. Charles supposes it’s better than the alternative—Erik becoming the very void threatened by his helmet.

Caught in an unblinking gaze and in the quiet admission lingering like an invisible string between their bodies, Erik seems to crumble a bit under the pressure that Charles only now suddenly senses so accutely it’s nearly suffocating.

“You think too well of me, Charles.” He sounds exhausted. “I don’t need you to save me.”

“You never did.”

Erik regards him with reservation. “Is this some new epiphany on your part?”

Charles sighs. “The beauty of hindsight is being able to remove rose coloured glasses without any remnants of anger clouding your vision.”

“I thought you’d be one to bask in nostalgia.”

Charles flinches. “I’m not so naïve as you still claim me to be. I’ve carried my fair share of burdens. They might not simmer with the same turmoil as yours but you know full well the childhood I—,” Charles stops abruptly, closes his eyes and takes a deep breath. “What I’ve seen, what I’ve survived is something I carry with me. You may not like the way I channel it…”

“I don’t think lesser of you either.” Erik shifts forward. “It frustrates me, but I now see it for what it is. A necessary—,”

“Evil?”

“Contradiction.” Erik smirks. “I’m not a megalomaniac despite accusations to the contrary by those who would prefer to dismiss my viewpoints and my goals without any consideration. I can appreciate the necessary, albeit irritating, challenge of a respected adversary. My friend. Closer than brothers, we are. You force me to be always mindful of the cause. In our opposition I have found reinvigorated purpose for that which I have devoted my life. I know that’s not what you want to hear, but it’s true. It may be hard to believe at the moment, but I think fondly on the time I spent here with all of you.” His voice catches and he draws his lips into a tight line, swallowing. “With you…I don’t regret any of it.”

There’s something pleading running below the words. It’s unexpected and gnaws nervousness, for the first time this evening, in Charles’ gut. He senses an ominous shadow on the horizon. “Two bookends of the same soul,” he says wistfully, taming fraying nerves.

Erik’s expression softens then just as quick hardens into pronounced lines and angles. He looks to the window, squeezes the armrests and inches forward off his chair like the hourglass has run out and it’s time to leave.

“I miss you.”

The words are out before Charles can slap his mouth shut and think through the implications or take back the sentiment in some adolescent fit of denial. The fact is they’ve been on his tongue for years, teasing to escape and lay bare what he’s held onto, buried deep ever since Cuba yanked them back away from the intimacies that had been finding their way into their day-to-day (and nightly) excursions.

Charles more than misses a friend.

Erik freezes as if the internal monologue is raging through his own mind.

In turn, Charles watches him nervously. To say he’s stunned when Erik stands up, never wavering from his gaze, and slowly slips the helmet off, gently placing it on the empty seat, is an understatement. His matted ginger hair is flattened and sweaty, tufts pointing this way and that. The initial glimpse of uncertainty gives way to bold stoicism. Erik faces him straight on, his jaw set and shoulders back, his eyes unflinching and determined. Charles has never seen him look more captivating and the hint of Erik’s mind sends him spinning. Instinctively he reaches out with his own, just to touch the edges and feel the warmth and familiarity long thought to be gone and forever out of reach.

Erik narrows his eyes and Charles quickly pulls back, at once embarrassed for the breach and desperate for it again.

“I’m sorry, Erik.” Charles worries he’s ruined everything. Such a gesture from Erik is rare. To have it be over before it’s even begun would be unconscionable. Nervously he distracts himself by putting on the wheelchair’s brakes. “But the void where your mind _should_ be for me…it…I’ve missed _you_.”

In consideration a million thoughts Charles won’t listen to (with great difficulty) play across Erik’s face. He steps closer and leans down until he’s but inches from Charles. “I’ve missed the feel of you on the outskirts of my consciousness,” Erik admits. “ _Not_ coming in uninvited but just being there.” He waves his right hand to the side indicating an abstract distance. “I didn’t realize how much until…”

“Erik.”

There’s no saying who bridges the distance first or if they meet in the middle. All that matters is that the kiss is both startling and reminiscent of years gone past. It begins with a brush of their lips and the faint mingling of their breaths. Then Charles gently nudges Erik’s nose with his own and Erik firmly catches his lips. The feel of Erik pressed to him is almost too much but all Charles wants is more. He needs to pull Erik inside, to fill him up, feel him race through his veins. With a muted sigh Charles parts his mouth and Erik slips his tongue across wet lips. The taste of him sets Charles’ skin blazing and Erik’s muffled groan tells him he’s not alone.

They deepen the kiss with Erik practically falling into him, placing his hands on either side of Charles’ thighs, squeezed into the tiny space between body and chair. Charles has never before appreciated the wheelchair bracing his body, allowing Erik to push harder against him, to the point where neither can ignore the reality of the unwavering want enveloping them. The old is new again and Erik twists Charles’ collar in a tight fist while Charles lightly drags his fingers across Erik’s stubbled cheek, memorizing the delightful sting of course hair against the tips.

Charles hears the rustling of clothing and guesses Erik has moved his hands to rest on Charles’ thighs, rubbing at the unfeeling skin and muscle below. Although technically it does nothing for Charles it moves him that Erik still sees his whole body, as changed as it is and as squeamish as the chair normally makes him.

Erik sucks Charles’ top lip, coaxing an impossibly deeper kiss. He follows when Charles first pulls back then pushes forward, licking and teasing the curves of Erik’s mouth, the ridge of his teeth and the rub of his tongue until they’re left panting, Charles’ cheek pressed to Erik’s, his right hand cupping the side of Erik’s face, Erik’s hands clutching at Charles’ waist.

“Why was it you who found me?” Erik whispers and there’s no telling if the question is rhetorical or demanding an answer.

Charles angles his head back and tries not to drown in stormy, conflicted grayish-blue eyes. He strokes Erik’s cheek. “Because you were screaming to be seen, to be acknowledged. And I heard you loud and clear. _We found each other_.”

Erik closes his eyes and turns into the caress, stuttering Charles’ heart in the process.

“Why are you here, Erik?”

It’s clear as day this is no random visit. What started off rather innocently has uncovered blistering feelings that never fully disappeared. Once thought healed, the scabs have been scraped away leaving everything raw and in need of immediate attention. It’s been a long time since he last saw Erik looking so insistent and distracted, desperate and resigned. When Erik tries to pull away, Charles tugs him back.

“What’s going to happen tomorrow?”

Erik awkwardly replies, “I don’t know.”

Charles furrows his brow and says, with disappointment, “Erik.”

“I don’t,” Erik snaps, dropping his head to gather his composure. He crouches at the foot of the chair and takes Charles’ hands in his own. “I don’t know for certain what tomorrow will bring, but things will change. They have to. You’ve known this day was coming as well as I have. Sticking your head in the sand or tripping over polite overtures with your human counterparts is no longer an option.”

The tenacity with which Erik speaks strikes a stark contrast to the warmth of his hands over Charles’. The dichotomy of the man sends chills down Charles’ spin. As if sensing the conflict within, Erik softens his tone. “But no matter what happens, despite what you may think of me come tomorrow, I need you to know that this,” he squeezes Charles’ hands and raises them to his lips for a kiss, “is true. It always has been for me.”

It’s not often that Charles is rendered speechless. In his mind the circumstances surrounding such a declaration were much different but the honesty at the heart of the actual confession far surpasses anything his imagination could will. His silence tips Erik back on his heels, eyes searching his for any response, before standing up and floating the helmet into his outstretched hand. Turning sideways, Erik contemplates it.

“Stay,” Charles finally says.

“No,” Erik replies and looks his way.

Charles wheels himself half a foot forward. “If tomorrow is troubling enough that it brings you here tonight, then don’t you think we deserve to steal a handful of hours for ourselves?”

Erik drifts his eyes down and up Charles’ body. He looks at the door, the windows and then down to the helmet, the very thing that has built a tangible and figurative wall between them, binding them in the nothingness it stretches from one to the other. “The helmet stays.” Erik fits it over his head.

Charles wrinkles his nose and muffles a grimace at the emptiness it sets heavily in front of him, so unnatural to his telepathy. He absolutely hates it but has to consider the trade off on the table. Compromise has always been more his forte than Erik’s.

“Yes, well I figured it would,” Charles states clearly and they exchange a look that makes him twist a smile to himself while Erik clears his throat.

Extending a hand, Erik calls open the door to the study. Making his own ‘after you’ gesture, Charles waits for Erik to head out first and follows a few feet behind. Taking in the unforgiving and imposing form that Erik cuts from behind, strolling down the hall as if he owns the place, Charles stretches his mind.

_Hank?_

_…Professor?_

_Call Moira immediately. Find out if there’s been a sudden increase in Brotherhood related chatter. Operation Minotaur may be happening sooner rather than later._

_What?! Of course…but..my god—_

_Hank!_

_Sorry! Yes, I’ll track her down._

_You’ll also need to give the others a heads up._

_I’m on it._

_Good._

_How do you—_

_Erik is here._

_…oh…_

_…please don’t disturb us unless it’s absolutely necessary._

_Are you sure about this? I don’t think he can be trusted._

_I’m not asking you to trust him. I’m asking you to trust me._

_You know I do._

_Then…_

_I’ll only interrupt if it’s life or death._

_Good…and Hank?_

_Yes?_

_Thank you._

Charles wheels by Erik into the bedroom and over to the bed. He rolls the chair around and eyes Erik hovering in the doorway then taking a small step inside.

“Is Beast going to keep everyone away for the night?” Erik asks casually.

“Yes,” Charles says not bothering to lie. They’re beyond pretense. “Hank will make sure they have other matters to occupy themselves with for the time being.”

Not releasing Erik’s gaze, he slowly unbuttons his blazer and, stretching lithely, shrugs it off, tossing it to the bed. He pulls the bottom of his shirt free from his pants and leans back in the chair, emitting an exaggerated sigh, enjoying Erik’s undivided attention taking in every single move, right down to Erik’s intense focus on his fingers when he undoes the top button just below his collar.

Erik grins. He undoes the clasp of his cape with one hand and lets it fall to the floor. With a flick of his fingers he tugs the zipper of Charles’ pants, not opening it, but exerting just enough influence to hear metal on metal. The sound has Erik raising one eyebrow suggestively.

The reprieve they’ve stolen for themselves exists outside of the laws of physics and nature, beyond any hero’s journey in a poetic lament as death beats down the door or true love holds on for dear life. Tonight heartbeats match hooded eyes as they remove all formalities and mindfully descend down the rabbit hole.

Charles bites his lower lip. Erik fists his hands at his side.

Time bends beneath the here and now.

Strolling forward, Erik motions with one hand and shuts the door with a quiet yet definitive thud, the lock sliding into place.

The world can keep at bay for one night.

**Author's Note:**

> This fic was inspired by Coldplay’s “UFO”. My apology if the lyrics are wrong but that song has a couple of lines where the words could go a couple of ways and Chris Martin’s (lack of) enunciation is obviously meant to taunt the listener.


End file.
